by Em Ashcroft
He didn’t miss the slight tremble of her lip. That was so unlike the woman he knew, that hint at vulnerability. He worried for her. His arms ached to hold her, but he daren’t do it until she’d finished. She needed to tell him this, that was for sure, and he needed to let her. So he kept his fists propping his chin and waited for her to continue.
“I saw it through. After that, I got a new life. I left Katrin behind and became Trinity.”
At the age of fifteen, Trinity had found herself completely alone. She had no family, no friends she could call on. Nathan admired her so much.
Her voice wavered. “At my new school, they were told my parents died in an accident. They placed me with foster parents, who didn’t know about my past.”
He frowned. “That seems risky.”
“They said the fewer people who knew, the better. They put an agent in place, somebody who worked as a teacher at the school.” She swallowed. “Another teacher was a pig bastard. Every time he came close to me, he touched me.”
His stomach clenched, and he tightened his hands into true fists. He would hunt the fucker down and kill him. His claws pricked against his skin, and he hastily loosed his hold. He didn’t want them firing into his flesh if they emerged. He needed his claws to rip the man who’d abused her. “Did he do anything worse?”
She shook her head and flashed a grin. “Being under protection had its advantages. I told the agent, and he dealt with it. The man who touched me taught literature. If he hadn’t been the head of that department, I’d probably have taken the classes because I love to read. But I did biology and science subjects instead, and here I am. After I graduated from high school, I started my med training. So I have to thank him for something.”
“You owe him nothing.” He might have said more, but she was so uncharacteristically fragile right now he didn’t want to push her further. Her fragility scared him. “Then you came here.” For which he remained profoundly grateful. He knew she had exacting standards from her work at the hospital and her swift rise to head of department. She had qualified as a surgeon, an expert in emergency work, but she was also a great manager.
She nodded. “I felt safer with all the shape-shifters around me.”
“Now you have one of your own.”
She didn’t nod, but her eyes warmed, and he felt heat in his bones that he knew came from her. Although he hadn’t pushed their telepathic link too hard, he’d gently introduced her to it, and found her not unwilling. She had lived here for a couple of years before he arrived, so she’d had time to get used to that.
He needed her with him even more now.
He gently took her hand. “Forgive me, Trinity, but I still want you to answer my question. Will you marry me?”
“You still want me after I told you that? I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.” She sounded surprised.
Did she really think her story would change his mind? It had only put his protective instincts into overdrive. “Is that why you broke up with Chris? Does he know?”
She shook her head then changed it to a nod. “He knows, but that wasn’t why we broke up. He found his breedmate. I retired gracefully. When I first came here, I meant to settle down, finally. Nobody has bothered me for years. I’m Trinity now, and nothing else. I told Chris because I thought he should know.” She swallowed. “He came to see me today. He told me the man in jail is out. He was Rossi, but he’s now Driscoll, which is why I couldn’t discover anything about him. Like me, he went into witness protection. They put him in a different prison in a different state.” She took his hands. He felt her touch like a balm. “He’s behaved like a model prisoner, but he escaped a few months before his parole was due. Chris warned me to take care, but he doesn’t think Driscoll knows where I am or what my name is now. Nobody’s made inquiries about me. He told me to tell you, so that’s what I’m doing.”
Shit. But he had no hesitation about his response. “Then I want you here. I won’t rest if I can’t reach out and touch you in the night. More than that, I want you sleeping in my arms. I need it, Trinity, because I love you.”
She caught her breath. “You don’t mean it. It’s your protective instincts kicking in.”
He smiled. “If you remember, I asked you to marry me before you told me your story. I’m not changing my mind. I love you, and I want you. Do you love me?”
Biting her lip, she nodded. “Yes. Of course I love you.”
He didn’t need to know anymore. “Then that’s settled.”
Chapter Three
Vaughn Blackfur hated hospitals. The smell, the atmosphere, even the cheap plastic floors grated. Usually he avoided them at all costs, but the trail led there, so he’d have to suck it up. He’d taken temporary refuge in this wood, given himself time to regroup and make a plan.
He should have gone to see the police chief before he’d come here to announce his presence. He felt too eager to claim his prey. He’d been tracking this fucker far too long to let him get away. He knew the man was somewhere around. He could smell him. Although in human form, he kept in touch with his cat, letting the instincts through. He didn’t want to shape-shift unless he had to. He had too many weapons on his person to lose them all.
His cat loved this damp, dark wood. It teemed with squirrels, and his cat was going crazy, wanting to chase them, but he didn’t have time for that. If he failed this mission, he’d never forgive himself.
He sank to the ground, leaning his back against a tree, and checked his weapons. All of them. Everything was in order. He wouldn’t expect anything else because he’d packed and loaded the guns himself, sharpened the knives.
He had to get this guy. His head was spinning. This assignment had gone bad, fast, and he had to put it right. He’d barely missed the pileup, but he’d driven on as calmly as he could and stopped here to regroup.
He’d been about to contact the police chief at Goldclaw to continue the chase, deciding to make use of his hands-free cell phone. The other vehicle sped up without warning then smashed into the car heading in their direction. It had blindsided the car, sending it spinning across the road.
Only years of driving practice had enabled him to take a wide arc around the scene, off the road, and into the dirt. When he got Driscoll under lock and key, he’d sort out the legal side. But if he stopped and let the law crawl all over the case, the bastard would get away again.
After gulping the best part of a pint of water, Vaughn slowly got to his feet and spread his senses.
Nothing. Was he in the wrong place? Had his tracking instincts gone off track somehow? They’d never been like this, but from the minute he’d entered Goldclaw territory, he’d felt unnerved, on edge in a way he wasn’t familiar with.
Irritably, he pushed the sensation from his head. He was doing everything except concentrate on the task in hand. He never, never did that. He was one of the best trackers and bounty hunters in Wildcats, which meant anywhere at all. But this job had become personal. His quarry had thwarted him at every turn. From Driscoll’s escape from prison to his convoluted journey here, Vaughn knew this guy had a mission and he would fulfill it or die. Die, probably, especially if he came up against Vaughn, although he’d rather take the guy in alive.
Wildcats had unearthed a number of offenses that would keep Driscoll busy for another twenty years. Driscoll was heavy-duty mob, but he’d sold out his colleagues in exchange for his life. That made him more than a severe flight risk, and it made his escape abroad a certainty. Though why Driscoll had come here, to Goldclaw, Vaughn wasn’t sure. Maybe the airfields that dotted the country around here had something to do with it.
With the scent of damp earth in his nostrils, Vaughn scented for anything unusual. While humans found it difficult thwarting a shifter’s senses, some had made it their life’s work.
Half an hour later, he returned to the road and collected his rental car. The fuss would be over now, and Driscoll would most likely be in the hospital, if he was still alive. From what he’d seen
of the smash, mostly in his rear view mirror after he’d swerved around the scene, Driscoll could even have been killed. At any rate, he wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.
Vaughn could make himself known to the authorities. Then he’d share the information he had, assure himself the cops here knew what they were doing, and head off home with his prisoner, or write his report on the dead man. Job done. Tomorrow he could be back in Washington, D.C.
He started the engine on his pickup and headed into town. A good eighty percent of the people around here owned one, mostly the high-end type. He wouldn’t stand out in this little beauty. Back home he drove something completely different, but he preferred the rugged, tough way this one handled. Maybe he should think about becoming a cowboy. He spared himself a small smile.
The main street of Goldclaw didn’t look like a frontier town. Boutiques filled the main street, with expensive goods prominent in their windows. They were interspersed with places to eat, from an old-fashioned-styled diner to an English tea room and several restaurants. The tourists had arrived, and the town was prospering on the new trade. That might make up for the shifters who preferred to keep separate from the humans.
He doubted it. Some people would never change.
As he passed the police station, Vaughn debated whether going in before he visited the hospital would help. Maybe they’d be so obsessed with paperwork and permissions he’d lose what lead he had. He couldn’t risk that. Later, he promised himself. He’d scope out the hospital first. The diner posed more of an immediate temptation. His stomach grumbled, and he promised himself a visit later, if he got the chance.
Vaughn had no idea what Driscoll was doing in Goldclaw, much less why he would be so obsessed with the hospital. He was chasing the guy for crimes he’d committed in D.C. and Chicago, crimes now ready for prosecution. He knew all about Driscoll’s WITSEC program and who he’d been before the name change. Now the authorities were ready to take him. The takedown of a major Chicago gang had provided the evidence, but nobody knew about it yet. Unless somebody had squealed and that was why he’d chosen to escape from jail.
This time Vaughn understood his tension. He recognized the thrill of the chase and pushed it away. He’d no doubt have a few drinks once he had Driscoll under lock and key. He shot a few snaps of the man. Enough people had their phones out and were taking pictures of the town for that to pass unnoticed.
The hospital lay a short distance out of town, set back in its own grounds. Vaughn parked and headed for the emergency room, where they must have taken Driscoll and the people he’d crashed into.
The emergency room had its own entrance, with doors wide enough to cope with gurneys and attendant staff.
The stink of antiseptic and cleaning fluid turned his stomach. The smell reached right to the back of his being and dragged everything out, made him edgy. In a job like his, edgy didn’t work. He forced his concentration on the door to the emergency room.
A sharp note of awareness pierced Vaughn’s consciousness. Someone was here. That was, someone attuned to him, someone who could contact him in ways he couldn’t imagine. The knowledge entered him of its own volition, as if sent by another person, but when he opened his mind, nobody contacted him telepathically.
However, his whole being thrummed and buzzed, alive with a new awareness. What the fuck was this? The new sensations made it harder for him to concentrate.
A woman came out of a side room, and the clamor inside Vaughn turned to insistent demand, as if somebody was screaming in his ear. She had a shoulder-length bob and seemed to be growing out bangs. But her eyes—the color, the almond shape, everything about them—sent instant desire sparking through him. She set him at war with the hunting mode he’d deliberately set himself to follow.
At the same time, a pair of elevator doors opened, and his quarry stepped into the room. Well, that answered one question. Driscoll wasn’t dead. He wore a pair of ill-fitting jeans and a grimy white T-shirt, probably filched from somewhere, a bandage was stuck on one temple, and he was limping slightly, but the bastard was alive.
Driscoll lifted his head and stared, as transfixed as Vaughn on the woman. He glanced around, saw Vaughn, and alarm tightened his expression.
Normally Vaughn would have been on alert, attention fixed on his quarry. The woman in the white doctor’s coat had shaken everything from his head. He gawped at her like a kid on Christmas morning in front of a pile of presents.
Torn back to his mission, Vaughn watched Driscoll step forward to address the woman. She stepped back. “You know me, don’t you, Katrin? I want a quiet word with you. That’s all.”
The woman’s chest heaved, going up and down fast as if she found breathing difficult. She shook her head. “I don’t know you.” Any shape-shifter within a mile would recognize her terror. It exuded from her, seeping through the air. The hairs on the back of Vaughn’s neck stood up, and his cat growled menacingly. Vaughn refused to let him out, not yet. He needed his voice.
He reached under his light jacket for his weapon. He must have moved too quickly because Driscoll spun around, a gun in his hand. Where the fuck had he gotten that from? Shit, probably the same place he’d stolen the clothes.
Vaughn sent a shot over Driscoll’s head. Plaster fell from a spot in the ceiling, and people shrieked. “Put it down,” he ordered, his tone demanding obedience. Forcing his mind away from the woman—Trinity—he concentrated on Driscoll. “Real slow,” he added.
Driscoll grinned. “I knew somebody was following me. Fuck off, cop.”
No sense pointing out he was a private operative, not a cop. “I have valid warrants for your arrest.” He glanced around, nodded to the half-dozen people cowering in the corner. “It’s okay, people, but maybe you’d like to leave.” He returned his attention to Driscoll. “Keep your hands away from your body.”
Grabbing plastic ties from his pocket, keeping his hand firmly on his gun, he inched closer to Driscoll. He shouldn’t have drawn his weapon so soon, but he was nervous and off his game, especially now that he’d seen the woman. Why did Driscoll want her? Who was she?
“I’m not leaving until I get what I want.”
“Back off, ma’am,” Vaughn said to her. “Nice and steady.” He wanted her out of the way before he made his approach. She was far too close to Driscoll and not close enough to him.
With a sudden lunge, Driscoll grabbed the woman and held her in front of him, lifting his gun to press against her temple. She wasn’t much of a shield. Driscoll’s bulk swelled on either side of her, and he was a head taller. But the threat was there, and Vaughn refused to take any chances. Not with her.
Vaughn sent out a pulsing, paralyzing blast of mental energy. The edge would probably hit Trinity, but she’d recover. As would Driscoll, but not before he had him in cuffs.
The blast seemed to come back at him, stunning in its intensity. As the woman cried out, Vaughn shook his head, trying to clear it of the numbing blow.
But the blast wasn’t in his head. Pain seared through his chest, and he stared down in amazement as blood sprayed out from the front, spattering the woman with scarlet droplets. His blood.
He had no more time to think. He dropped like a stone.
* * * *
Trinity burst out of the man’s arms, heading for the man who’d been shot. She ignored the threat, and his low curse. Rossi-Driscoll had shot the man on the floor, as if it was an everyday occurrence. Screams erupted from patients and the staff. She dragged the black T-shirt from the man’s chest and pulled it out of the way so she could to find the source of the wound.
Angie knelt on the other side, scalpel in hand, cutting the fabric away. She glanced up. “Through the back, out the left side of the chest.”
His heart. “Get Dr. Nathan. Now!”
Her own heart still pounded from the shock of seeing Driscoll standing in her hospital, glaring at her. She’d come out of the side room heading for the desk to find him there. When he’d turned his head, the yea
rs had dropped away. She’d been fifteen again, holding her breath in case he heard her.
To her shock, she found Chris bending over her. “What are you doing here?” she asked him, her hands still busy at her work.
“Came to see you,” he said laconically. “Who shot him?”
Glancing up, she shook her head. “The man holding me. The one holding me hostage. D-Driscoll.”
Chris frowned. “There’s nobody behind you but a nurse, honey.” His eyes widened. “Driscoll?” He turned around, snapped a few orders to his deputies to close the hospital and hunt the man down.
Trinity had work to do.
Grabbing a wad of bandages from the nurse, she slapped it over the wound and put her weight on it. She had to stop the bleeding or this man would die before Nathan got here. Swiftly assessing the rest of him, she concluded the bullet wound was the only, and life-threatening, injury. “Put your hand on that and keep it pressed down hard. It doesn’t matter if you break a rib or two. We need to stop the bleeding.”
Incredibly, her patient opened his eyes. He stared at her, amber eyes wide and clear. “I’m Vaughn. Say it.”
“Vaughn,” she repeated. “Why?”
“I wanted to hear you say it just once.”
Chris grunted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was a shape-shifter.” He froze, his gory hand pressed against the guy’s chest. “Shit, he is.” He must have put out his senses.
Chris’s men set about clearing the scene. The half-dozen people waiting for medical attention were ushered away, and two officers stood by the door. She could concentrate on Vaughn.
She did a quick skim of her patient’s body, feeling for any other injuries. The man was built, for sure. Muscles bulged under her hands, even in repose, and when he moved his leg under her touch, his quadriceps flowing in practiced response.
When the elevator doors opened, she didn’t have to look up to know who’d arrived. Quickly, she outlined the situation to Nathan when he knelt by her and pulled on a fresh pair of surgical gloves. “He’s a shifter,” she concluded. Vaughn had subsided into unconsciousness. When she checked his eyes, she found him deep under. Not a good sign. She’d have preferred him awake.
